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Klarinet Archive - Posting 000288.txt from 1999/06

From: Ken Wolman <Ken.Wolman@-----.com>
Subj: [kl] A message from a fellow feline
Date: Mon, 7 Jun 1999 15:08:39 -0400

kevinfay@-----.com wrote:
>
> Lelia uh, "relayed"
>
> <<<How dare you! . . .She claims the computer doesn't stink, but I can smell
> that computer when I
> curl up in my rightful place. The clarinet stinks, too. The saxophones

> Lelia . . . have you ever thought of decaf? ;-)
>
> Thanks for the grin.

LELIA!!!??? And WHO is Lelia except the servant of our sister cat,
Shadow????? Lelia is the pen, but Shadow is the brain! And we too have
suffered mightily. First, this Ken person adopts me from the animal
shelter in a place called Bergen County: that was his first and last
kindness to me since even a bachelor's apartment doesn't smell as awful
as that place full of DOGS! Then he gives me a funny name. I'm a
female! I am woman, hear me wrrrrrrowwwwr! What does he call
me?--PUSHKIN!! He names me for a hypertestosteronic Russian MALE poet,
thank you very much! If I weren't neutered already I'd get a complex
about sex roles. Then, when I have him totally trained, he goes out and
gets me a younger man, so at least I have someone to fight with during
the day when he's mercifully doing something called "being at work."
But he calls my new little friend, a black male cat...Miles! Why? He
thinks this is funny because he's naming him for another "black cat" who
blew through the bright metal honk-tube! He will soon hear from the
NAACC about this, in fact about BOTH of us since I am orange, which also
makes me a Cat of Color.

He has one of those screech-sticks too! He started playing it again
after he got me! I'm insulted. When he plays that thing he needs both
hands, so he can't rub the back of my neck. Is owning one of these
objects a prerequisite for being owned by a cat?--agreeing to torture it
by blowing into that hideous black tube? It was just becoming bearable
to listen to until he came home one night with a much bigger
screech-stick. I heard him say something about "I wanna be Eric Dolphy
when I grow up," and started playing it. Then some horrible horrible
HORrible! sounds came out that sounded like the other screech-stick,
only much louder! Ken said some nasty words he didn't think I'd
understand, like "I gotta learn how to play this muddableepin' thing all
over again!" And now he's added another kind of screech-stick only it's
made of metal. He calls it an Alto Sax, and Miles and I are thinking of
working open the zippers on the case and doing something very un-nice to
it while he's doing that "at work" thing again. He keeps offering to
take us to a Chinese restaurant up the street if we do what he calls
"misbehaving," but we won't go. There aren't any other cats around
there to conspire with.

Pushkina Felina
--
Ken Wolman dbtrader Deutsche Bank, N.A.
1251 Sixth Avenue New York, NY 10019 212-469-6494

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